Mary Brock Jones (27 page)

She breathed in once more, then again, then out on a harsh pain. It was no use. Her needle dug sharply into the rip in the calico shirt on her lap. It was such a beautiful day that peace should be invading every part of her. But it could not, not against the sharp nag of worry that never left her.

A horse neighed, then she heard the clatter of hooves on the hard-packed earth of the path that wound round the small hill behind the house.

Her needle seized. She refused to stand, could not if truth be told. It was only Bob, back from the yards, she was sure. But then she remembered: Bob had walked down that morning.

They came round the house. A horse she knew so well, and the gentle mare she had ridden here. She tried, so hard, but, despite all, it was the man on the big horse to which her eyes clung, not the younger man on the mare.

He was alive. He was safe.

Then she remembered. She tucked the needle into the shirt, set it to one side and rose, smiling, to greet them.

“Philip, how lovely to see you. I didn’t expect you for weeks. Is everything well at the diggings?” She set a firm smile on her face and did her best to bury the tremor she could feel threatening her voice.

“Everything is just fine.” The boyish triumph in his grin gave her an unholy urge to box his ears. “It’s all going along just grand.”

The smile on her face was so forced she was sure they must see it. She stepped forward. “Come on in, both of you. Ada will want to hear all about it.”

Amid the clatter of dismounting and the arrival of Ada at the door as she heard the tumult, John came up beside her and spoke quietly into her ear.

“You’re safe now. Albert Fox is well on his way away from here.”

“So you didn’t …?”

“What, murder him? No, Miss Ward, we didn’t. Much as I was tempted.”

Now there were two men whose ears she would dearly like to box, but she could not stop herself touching his arm lightly in thanks, to be reassured he was whole.

“And you were not hurt, you or Philip?”

“I promised that your brother would be safe. He’s a brave young man, beneath it all, and yes, he is unharmed.”

Which was all she would ever be told of what had happened, it seemed. Philip stayed that night with John, after a long and boisterous family meal with the Coopers, then got a lift back the next day with a packer heading over to Campbell’s. She felt a tear slide down her cheek as he strode out, so tall and so confident. This land had been good to him in some ways. Maybe this time he would find what he sought, this time he would stay long enough in one place and settle to the work of the diggings, instead of chasing rainbows.

Would grow up
, was her secret thought and hope, but after that one night of self-honesty, she refused to now consider why she needed him to grow up and need her no longer, thrusting it to the back of her mind like a glowing ember, now buried beneath cold ash.

“He will be all right,” said John beside her.

There was a note in his voice, something not quite right. She turned swiftly, tears forgotten, and studied his face. It was closed in, the smile too hearty.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Now, let’s get you up to Chamonix. Jacques will be waiting.”

“Don’t change the subject.” She suddenly remembered seeing Philip and John together, just before he left. Johns’ hand had shot out, clasping the younger man’s shoulder. Philip had shrugged it off. At the time, she had put it down to no more than a youth’s dislike of anything that smacked of constraint by an older man. Now she was not so sure.

“How bad does it get up at Campbell’s when the snows come?”

John said nothing at first. Then shrugged. “Pretty bad. It’s no place to be in winter. But he has a bit of time yet, and I’ve told the packers to take him some extra rations, just in case.”

“How much longer?”

He did not answer her at first. She struck her hands on her hips and glared. He shrugged, looking up to the skyline as if considering.

“A few weeks at most.” He looked straight at her then. “Remember the flat on the tops, where the snow lies. They call it the Great Glacier round here, and it’s well named. In winter, it’s nine miles long, covered in snow six feet deep and treacherous as all blazes. Not even the packers will cross it then.”

She paled.

“I’ve told Philip what to expect and asked the packers to warn him as soon as it looks like getting bad. Winter seems to be a bit late this year, so he should be fine for now.”

His voice still rang not quite true, but she nodded. There was nothing she could do. Each morning after that, she would look to the top of the ranges on first stepping outside. On too many days, it was covered with a grey cloud, or she would catch a glimpse of sun striking off a shining white face.

She asked Jacques about it one day.

He shrugged, with his French carelessness. “Who knows, mam’selle? The snows come when they come. It’s the first winter in this place for me, for all the packers. You should ask Messieurs John or Bob. It is they who have seen the winter here, not us. Their stories, they are not good. But who knows? Maybe they just like to scare the new ones.” He looked at her, and must have seen the trouble in her. “Bah, the English. Do they know nothing? They have been telling you silly stories, mam’selle. Your brother, he is safe. He’s young, yes, but he learns quickly that one. So the packers tell me.”

“I hope so.”

“And you want him to stay, to settle and make his fortune? No more traipsing from field to field.”

In the short time she had been here, the astute Frenchman had come to understand her very well. She had formed the habit of confiding much of her worries about Philip to him. They would speak in his native tongue over a glass of wine as she waited for Bob to collect her for the ride back to the Coopers.

At first she had protested to John that she did not need a ride. She could walk. But she was coming to know the man she had fallen in love with. There was bland look that came across his face when he had no intention of changing his mind. He wore it that first day, when she told him it was no distance for her to walk on her own. After that, at four o’clock promptly, he would send Bob on his horse to collect her for the short ride back to the cottage.

Today, Jacques did not even wait for her answer to his words. There was no need. She shrugged and collected both their glasses, taking them out to rinse them and put the precious pieces of real glass away in the cupboard in Jacques’ study. His small reminder of civilisation, he had told her. She had a feeling their afternoon chats in French were the same.

She came back to the counter. “What if I am wrong? Maybe he should find something else to do for the winter, then go back to the diggings come spring.”

“What could he do?”

She fell silent, unable to think of an answer. Without the diggings, there was little work for a man on the fields, unless he chose to become a trader, banker or guard. Somehow she could not imagine Philip holding his tongue enough to flatter his customers as did the traders. And he was too young to be taken on by the banks or armed police.

A horse clattered outside. Her ride home had arrived.

To her surprise, she saw it was John tonight. “Bob had to help out with the children,” he said in explanation. He leaned down and caught her as Jacques gave her a lift into the saddle.

The rest of the trip home was silent. It always was with Bob, too, but that did not matter. The man hardly spoke to anyone, including Ada. With Bob, there was an ease in silence.

Not with John. He set her before him on the big stock saddle, both arms around her as she sat sideways. If she wanted to, she could lean back into the haven of his chest. If she wanted? Her whole body asked for nothing more. It was her mind that said no. That knew she dared not.

So she rode back over the rise to the Coopers’ cottage, holding herself stiffly to attention. This close to him, she felt the answering tension in John. His horse felt it too, sidling and jibbing, throwing her back into John’s chest. His arms tightened about her, keeping her safe. She stopped breathing, so ready to stay there, to lean in closer and reach her arms up, but forced herself to pull back instead.

“My apologies,” he said gruffly, loosening his arms a fraction. She felt the terse anger in him at her continued rejection, but what choice did she have? It was deny John, or abandon the brother she had promised both her mother and father to care for, so many years ago. One day, maybe, she would have her own life, but not yet.

He stopped at his own cottage. “I have something to take down to Ada. If you would wait a minute?” He dismounted, then reached up to help her down. “Ned here is too strong for you if he should be spooked,” he explained.

The words were kindly but his voice was as strained and gruff as she felt.

His hands closed around her waist and lifted her effortlessly, bringing her down to stand far too close to him. They tightened. “Oh, hell,” he said, with no apology. Then his head bent down, he pulled her closer still and his lips captured hers. Or, rather, as soon as they touched hers, she opened to him without thinking and welcomed him in. The distance she had kept between them was defeated by the first touch and lost completely in the magical unfurling of her senses caused by his kiss.

A very long time after, he lifted his head again, his eyes as dazed as she felt. “Stay,” he urged.

From some deep well inside her, she brought up a strength of will she had not guessed at. She was so tempted. “No,” she whispered. Another night like that one in the hut, and she would be lost forever. She drew back, and that was when she saw it: the hurt in his eyes, no sooner glimpsed than his face froze again, hardened in defence.

“I’m still looking,” he said, his voice now grim and determined.

He had cast her adrift again. “For what?”

“A parson. We will be married as soon as I find one.”

She forgot his hurt in the sudden wave of anger that hit her. “Do I have anything to say in this?”

“Not since you chose to lie so completely, to yourself and to me. You are in love with me. One day you will admit it, but I cannot wait that long.”

“And you? If I am supposedly in love with you, what about you?”

“I love you. Do not think otherwise. I love you, will marry you and will keep you safe all the days of your life. Though right now I would very much like to shake you senseless.”

She ignored that. John Reid would never raise a finger in anger against her. For the rest, she believed every word he said. But she was not free. “I have still not given you the right to order my life. I choose what I do, not you. You have never asked me to marry you, only ordered, and I tell you again. I cannot. Not yet. I keep the promises I make, whether they suit you or not, and I made a promise to my parents. Philip will win his fortune. Then he will go home and study to be the scholar he was raised to be.”

John’s hands loosened, forgotten in his anger. He glared at her then swung around abruptly and disappeared into the cottage. He came back shortly, carrying a bundle tied with a cloth, lifted her into the saddle and swung up behind her. He said not a word, but his arms pulled her in close refusing to allow her the distance she had kept on the way here.

It was only a few minutes more till they reached the Coopers’ cottage. He said not a word until he pulled up outside. Then, just before he dismounted, he leaned forward and spoke into her ear.

“I will find that parson, and soon.”

She could not answer, so close to weeping she dared not show her face. Whether from anger or despair that he must make it so hard for her, she refused to consider. He must have guessed. He swung down and reached up to lift her from the saddle. The horse was between them and the cottage and no one had yet seen them arrive. One thumb caught at the wetness on her lids and traced it so gently, following down the line of her jaw and mouth.

“Don’t,” he pleaded. “You’re driving me crazy.” He quickly pulled her close, his hand stroking her hair, in the few minutes they had before they were discovered. “Forgive me. I do understand your promise. But you are wrong. Your brother is old enough now to start becoming his own man. He’s surviving well at Campbell’s without you. You can let him go.”

She pulled away. “No, I can’t. Not yet.”

“Can’t, or won’t?”

She would have thrown something at him if she had not heard the despair in his voice.

“Can’t,” she whispered again. “Not yet. He’s not ready to lose me, not yet. When he is, I’ll know.”

“And if that takes years?”

She shook her head, refusing to consider that possibility. He stood looking at her, as if silently pleading for her to change her mind. Then he untied her satchel from the saddle and stood back to let her go inside.

He did not stay any longer that evening, barely saying more than Bob when he farewelled Ada and the children.

“Is everything all right with Mr John?” said one of the little girls, watching wistfully from the door as the big man who was usually so friendly plodded down the path leading his horse home.

“Shush, sweetie. He’s just got a mite on his mind this e’en,” said Ada, picking up her daughter and carrying her inside, with no more than a brief but shrewd glance at Nessa.

Days would go by after that with only short sightings of John. He rarely came round when Nessa was home. She knew he spent as much time at the Coopers as ever he had, and Ada still frequently sent one of the children over to his house with some cakes, or leftover stew, or whatever else she was cooking. “The man will fade away if he doesn’t eat properly,” Ada would say, piling yet another scone into the cloth bundle. “Now, Jimmy, you be sure to tell him I want each and every one eaten.”

Ada’s whole mission in life was to feed heartily anyone who came into her orbit, and John Reid was no exception. Yet with Nessa, she refrained, and made no comment at all that John had ceased sharing the evening meal with them as he had been used to do as often as not. Nessa might catch a considering look from the older woman, but Ada was never less than her usual friendly self.

For which, Nessa was hugely grateful. And for the rest, she was kept too busy to think. She was on her feet all day at Jacques’ store, and the Frenchman had become another firm friend—not least because the number of customers to the shop went up markedly on the days she was there. All treated her with the greatest of respect, surprisingly. The only other women in the township were the girls in the hotels across the steep street.